Sometimes nothing
other than a plaintive
cry — high-pitched or
guttural or something
in between — will do
to express that which
binds us together
except perhaps a
high-pitched or
guttural or some-
thing in between
laugh; that, too.

Sometimes
seemingly
simple things
continue to sear
one’s soul with
sadness — a
simple encounter,
perhaps, which
serves as a
reminder of the
source of such
significant
suffering.

He lives part of the year in this really interesting culture, some might say sub-culture, where most everybody in restaurants and bars, even, bows their heads before eating to say a prayer. They are very religious without talking about their faith preferring to live it out mostly in prayers in public and have that living be seen by others as a witness to the faith they don’t talk about and even a judgment on others who don’t bow before eating.

If they do talk, they talk about their loyalty to a political party not a religious faith, which dates back to Lincoln, but which Old Abe wouldn’t recognize today. They once stood for the Union but now stand for free markets even though most of them are blue-collar people who don’t like unions and are losing out to the one percent, who in their minds got that way because of God’s blessing, which will be their blessing, too, if they just stay loyal and do things like pray before eating in public.

To their credit, they, over the years, have been very productive, which is next to Godliness as is cleanliness, but now they value a time clock as evidence of doing their Godly duty whether anything really productive is accomplished or not, which seems kind of strange given their forebearers’ emphasis on productivity.

They really like individual salvation in Jesus Christ, mostly without Jesus and with a heavy emphasis on Christ because they have a ticket to heaven and only have to worry some about personal sins and not about salvation that transforms structures and systems to reflect the peaceful, just Realm of God that Jesus preached over and over and over.

They just don’t have a clue about that stuff which smacks of communism and socialism as they bless their Buffalo Wings and microbrew beer, which was recently removed from the list of forbidden things, because in light of the prosperity of surrounding seaside communities, God told them to advocate for because it would help make the area more prosperous, which is always God’s will for this interesting culture, which some might call a sub-culture.

Meeting them again after so many years
and so many memories, which were good,

except for the horrible one was like
chewing nails thus destroying all of

the beautiful crowns in his mouth and
the one root canal, which wasn’t painful

when drilled except when the ten penny
crushed it to smithereens. He got through

the visit with way too much nervous jibber-
jabber on his part and, on the way home,

stopped to take a blood pressure test. His
blood pressure was a little high but his

pulse had rocketed out of the solar system,
thus confirming in his non-professional o-

pinion (His doctorate is in a non-related
field.) that he was having a mild anxiety

attack, which was completely new for him
but which would be assuaged when he arrived

home with two quick shots of Polish potato
vodka followed by two glasses of a relative-

ly new on the market California Sauvignon
Blanc, 2014, slightly effervescent and a nap.

I read two poems the other day —
one sad and the other quite gay
(in the old way).
That poet was English, dare say.
Then I realized the sad
poem was all about the struggles
of being gay
(in the new way)
which weren’t at all gay
(in the old way)
because they were all about,
wrote the poet, buying the
“House in Vermont” and doing
the “high-five,” perhaps on the
down-low back in the day.
They are euphemisms both for
dying in a painful, unnecessary way.
I read a poem today
by a bloke (English, too)
who in his straight way, straight away
wrote of sadness and death
as just the human way
and the Buddha, Jesus and Lao Tzu
discussed all that along the way
through the Valley of Doubt, not
death or delight, which actually
is a painting.
I just added Lao Tzu because he
has, in very few words,
so much to say about all that
along the way.

Several months ago, the preacher said it from the pulpit. It didn’t sound rehearsed, sort of spontaneous, off the cuff, like he just needed in that moment to get out what was bugging him.

Normally, a real high-spirited, happy-go-lucky, almost hyper-happy guy who doesn’t show anything but positive emotions, he said, “We’ve got to slow down, we’ve got to slow down, to breathe deeply and let it go, everything. Just let it go. Just let it go.”

I think we were all waiting for him to tell us to take it to Jesus in prayer, but he just wandered back to his seat behind the pulpit and forgot to announce the offering. The preacher is never, ever supposed to forget to announce the offering.

At first, the congregation shook their heads in affirmation but then wondered what was going on in the preacher’s life — a normal response for a nosey species prone to looking for the worst and fodder for the rumor-mill.

But he was exactly right, wasn’t he?

The marketplace is filled with stuff to make life easier and the 900 lb. oxymoron in the room is that all that stuff bought to make life easier complicates it at a very high price, and not just in materialistic terms.

If life is so much easier and we have so much more time on our hands (which would be the logical conclusion), for instance, why are the roadways filled with rude, impatient, ill-tempered, speeding drivers who only know the one fingered, universal sign of peace? Why is there so much road rage?

But we don’t have more time, do we? I’m just asking.

An article promoting good, emotional health suggests not watching the daily news. Apparently, there is a lot of murder and mayhem going on worldwide. Perhaps not watching the T.V. and movies at all would be a really good idea, too.

Then there was the ad that came across the internet promoting a line of clothing, the True Religion brand, for men, women and the kiddies. Put on the True Religion brand and you will be in heaven. Don’t take the kiddies to Church school, just buy them the right brand.

Could any of this indicate a spiritual bankruptcy that the preacher might have been hinting at?

So, I mentioned this to someone in passing and got jumped on. “Don’t take offense,” I told this person, “I’m just asking, really. Why are you threatening to sue me? Oh, you just bought a pair of True Religion undies and I’m mocking your purchase?

“Well, if your undies feel like heaven, why are they in such a scrunch? Not experiencing the raising of the dead?” — (to steal a clever quip by a friend).

“Hey, that was a joke. Really. Don’t hit me.

“Hey, if you do, I’ll sue you because wherever we are right now, this is being video taped and we are being watched.

“Dude, don’t go away mad.”

He jumped in his car and sped away, horn blasting, finger flying.

I’m just saying.

The Chocolate Lab lies between
his master and mistress looking
up lovingly past the light into
the man’s face as the man flips
another page of the mystery his
sister inadvertently left behind
in the hurry of packing. It had
been a rough day for everyone
at the animal surgeon’s office.
To cut or not to cut — that is
the question. The vet had work-
ed the knee hard and detailed
previous wounds in the rescue
dog’s legs. The dog, seemingly
serene, took it without a mur-
mur. Surgery or not — that is
the question. Life together wou-
ld change irrevocably surgery
or not. Walks in, running out;
sidewalks in, sand dunes out;
stairs? slow, slower, slowest.
The man knows the dog’s knee
has to hurt because the stoical
dog has grown still and very
quiet. He wonders about the
light in the dog’s eyes. He
turns off the lamp and puts
down the book.

Life isn’t fair he said upon rising.
He takes his shower and only then
the commode does beckon.
He wishes it were earlier than then,
the reverse would be heaven —
the bathroom on emerging,
and shower after purging,
but he has appointments to keep
and miles to go before he does sleep.
So he pulls up his drawers
and heads out the doors,
sometimes, with the barn door
still flying.

He had just finished reading a novella
about a woman who, at fifty, left her
husband and he knew that if his late
wife who died at forty-nine had lived,
she would have left him at fifty, also.
They were such babies when they met
and married eight years later in their
early twenties. They grew and were
good at that growing, but they didn’t
grow together; he wished she had lived
so that, at fifty, she could do what
she had planned on doing which was to
leave him; it would break his heart
in a different way from which it was
broken, but at least this time, she
would be alive.

Most have big money belts tied tightly
around ever-expanding waist-
lines.

Some just wear ropes around their waists
and robes with no pockets for
possessions.

One said “I poured a ton of money into
this place, and I deserve a private
beach.”

Many agreed and hired a lawyer to press
their capitalistic cause with confusing
legalese.

One hired a lawyer to defend his cause against
those who would restrict his property
rights.

Loins girded, heels dug in, faces like flint,
but only two lawyers carried away the
booty.

The few with ropes and no pockets had time
to look around, smell flowers and watch
birds.

Those are two options said the capitalist
finding it harder to stand under the belt’s
weight.

A few only heard the roar of the ocean
waves as they watched the brilliant sun
set.